 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
50
Leda
Out of my silver turrets I look down
Upon a garden wherein sleeps a rose
Who hath a ruby heart; beside her glows
Unblemished, in a drifted, vestal gown
Yon lily, and beyond them lies a town
Of tufted green and each sweet bloom that blows;
Midmost from whence a little fountain throws
His gentle sprays which seem but half his own.
Upon a garden wherein sleeps a rose
Who hath a ruby heart; beside her glows
Unblemished, in a drifted, vestal gown
Yon lily, and beyond them lies a town
Of tufted green and each sweet bloom that blows;
Midmost from whence a little fountain throws
His gentle sprays which seem but half his own.
And on the lake that skirts our dreary wood
There sails for ever a new-washen swan,
Who is as white as milk or angels are:
At dawn he glitters in the solitude,
At dusk he goeth glimmering and wan
To where one waits him, white like a young star.
There sails for ever a new-washen swan,
Who is as white as milk or angels are:
At dawn he glitters in the solitude,
At dusk he goeth glimmering and wan
To where one waits him, white like a young star.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |